The Dance of the Stolen Veil
by Maria Krause
Summary: "Your sister," Loki mused. "You never told me what happened to her." "I killed her," Odile murmured. "And then I took her heart." Armed with headstrong steadfastness, pop culture references and a naughty penchant for mischief, Odile Proctor moves into the New York Sanctum for her safety. Then stuff happens. Funny, sexy, tragic stuff. [Complete, 20 chapters; weekend updates]
1. Part one: Salomé, Chapter I

Part one: Salomé

I.

When Salomé began to dance, shrouded in her seven veils, the audience went still and gaped with wonder. The lights had dimmed, the stage glowed red and Salomé owned the entirety of it. Swaying, stretching, jumping, crawling—no muscles remained idle in her quest to bewitch her public. It was a miracle the strips of silk and tulle wrapped around her body didn't come undone.

Though piece by piece she shed her costume, revealing herself to the king she danced for. The music intensified and at last Salomé stood nude on stage, as she clutched the veils to her chest for a modicum of decency. The crowd collectively gasped.

"Oh, God…" Dr. Stephen Strange averted his gaze, sinking deeper into his seat.

"When you said we were finally going on a date," Christine whispered beside him, "this wasn't really what I had in mind."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know—"

"How could you not know, it's _Salomé_!"

Dr. Strange opened his mouth to continue the argument but their neighbors shushed them. They both sat back and waited for the show to end. After the dancers took their bows at curtain call, Dr. Strange walked his date to the cloakroom, only to inform her that he 'needed to chat with Salomé.'

"Seriously, Stephen? You brought me here because you needed to _chat_ with Salomé?"

"No—well, not…really. It's important, Christine."

Christine sighed. "I'll leave you to it, then. Good night, Stephen." She turned around and left but Stephen followed her outside. She was waving for a cab.

"Christine, please, wait! It'll only take a moment—"

"No, Stephen." She stopped and faced him. "I'm tired. Of waiting. I'm going home. Enjoy your…chat with Salomé."

"Christine—"

But Christine got into her cab, leaving a despondent Stephen Strange alone on a jam-packed sidewalk. He squeezed his way through, into the theater, until he made it backstage to the dressing rooms. Here, an attendant intercepted him.

"I'm sorry, sir, you're not allowed—"

"Dr. Stephen Strange. I believe Miss Odile Proctor is expecting me."

The attendant hesitated.

"I'll wait here," Dr. Strange assured him and the young man went to check if the star of the show was indeed expecting a visitor. She was and the attendant showed Stephen in.

"Mr. Strange!" Odile exclaimed, spinning in her chair. She wore nothing but an embroidered silk robe, which slipped off her bare legs as she crossed them. "I see you got my tickets."

"Doctor," Stephen corrected. It confused Odile. " _Doctor_ Strange," he clarified, "not Mr. Doctor."

Odile was still confused. "Why…would anybody—No, never mind." She shook her head. "So tell me, how did you like the show?"

"It was very…interesting."

Odile chuckled. "Yes, I suppose that's one word for it. Did you know that Oscar Wilde basically invented striptease when he wrote the play?"

"Fascinating. Now enough of that—"

A jazz tune interrupted him, the unmistakable voice of Louis Armstrong.

" _Cheek to Cheek_?" Stephen asked.

Odile nodded. "Ella and Louis, '56. You were saying?"

"Hmm." He smiled to himself, toying with the sling ring in his pocket. "We need to talk, Miss Proctor."

"I thought we were."

"Not here." Stephen put his sling ring on.

"Oh, dear." Odile stood up. "Promise you'll bring me right back?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I…promise?"

"Pinky promise." She held up her hand, wagging the finger in question.

"Uh, no. No."

She sat back down. "Then I'm not coming."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, Mr.—Dr. Strange. I don't know what you want from me and I don't know how you found me but I'm not leaving this place unless I know I won't end up stranded halfway across the world. I don't have a bling ring."

Stephen frowned. "A wha—you mean a sling ring?"

She pointed to his hand. "That ridiculous-looking, two-fingered bling you make sparkly teleportation circles with?"

"Uh, yes…"

"Yeah, I don't have one."

Stephen was at a loss for words for a few seconds, before he decided it was best to give in and offered up his curved, shivering pinky. Odile hooked it with hers and pressed their thumbs together.

"Happy now?"

"Thrilled."

Spinning his hand, Dr. Strange opened a gateway to the Sanctum. "After you," he told Odile and let her step through first.

"Where are we, exactly?"

The gateway closed behind them and Stephen's tuxedo morphed into a sophisticated outfit made of dark blue robes and a red cape.

"The New York Sanctum, Greenwich Village. Quite a way from Broadway but not exactly halfway across the world."

Odile wrapped her arms around herself, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the Chamber of Relics. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Mostly, yes," Stephen answered. "Not in this particular room, however."

"Love what you've done with the place."

"Wasn't all me, but thanks." He led her to a smaller, cozier room, where he provided her with a warm blanket and slippers. "Should've put something on."

She smiled. "Slipped my mind."

They sat across from each other, with a small table between them, on which Dr. Strange magically produced a tea tray.

"Well, then." Odile picked up a cup and tucked her legs under her. "What is it so important that you had to talk to me about it in person…and in a place like this, no less?"

Stephen leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'll cut to the chase, Miss Proctor. Your life is in danger."

Her eyebrows jumped. "Oh?"

"There's somebody going around killing sorcerers and it's only a matter of time before you become a target."

Odile calmly sipped her tea. "Would that be all?"

Stephen straightened up. "I just told you your life's in danger, what more do you want?"

"You said sorcerers are getting killed. I should be fine, then."

He stared at her, bewildered. His mouth struggled to form an adequate response. "Are you sure you speak English?"

Odile laughed. "Yes. Are you sure _you_ do?"

"I don't—I don't follow."

"You said sorcerers. I'm not a sorcerer."

"Okay, listen, just because you don't know what a sling ring is—"

"I'm a sorcer _ess_."

Stephen blinked several times, dumbstruck. "Are…you…being serious right now?"

"Quite." Odile set her teacup down and got to her feet. "Are we done here?"

Stephen stood, too, and with a flick of his fingers, the smooth skin on her chest dissolved into a scar which disappeared into her cleavage.

"I thought those records were supposed to be sealed," she whispered, looking down at her sternum.

"They were," he replied, "except the London Sanctum fell and they became unsealed."

Her head snapped up.

"They were secured as soon as possible," Stephen assured her. "But really, you're not a hard woman to find. There are posters of your face, name and nightly location all over the city."

"They paid off, you know. We've had a full house for two weeks in a row now."

Dr. Strange couldn't believe her obstinacy. "Records or no records, when someone who almost died during the Incident makes a miraculous comeback to the world of professional dance—that's like putting up a big neon sign screaming, 'I'm not an ordinary human being!' If I were a serial sorcerer killer, I would check you out."

Unfazed, Odile recast the spell to hide her scar. "So what would you prescribe, Doc?"

"For starters, a sling ring." He gave her one. Odile took it and held it in her palm. "And training. And relocation to the Sanctum."

She seemed to consider the proposition as she examined the ring. "So you want me to become a _real_ sorceress?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You know why I never did it?" She put the ring on and flexed her fingers. "My parents insisted. They were going to ship me off—or rather, teleport me—to Kathmandu but Odile, the black sheep— _swan_ of the family, preferred dancing."

She smiled, removing the ring. "Odette the white swan, on the other hand, didn't disappoint. She excelled at the Kamar-Taj, until our parents died and she had to come back to look after me. Always the better twin, Odette…"

"Shouldn't speak ill of the dead," Stephen said. "Especially after what she did for you—"

Odile clenched her fist around the sling ring and glared at him. "You don't wanna go there, Doc."

Stephen apologized, if only not to alienate his recruit as he realized that he may have overstepped his boundaries. "I'm sorry, Miss Proctor, I didn't mean to upset you."

"That's alright. Oh, and you can just call me Odile." She pocketed her sling ring, grinning. "When do we start?"


	2. Part one, Chapter II

II.

Bright and early the next morning, after a healthy, colorful breakfast and ten minutes of yoga, Odile went to rummage through her closet for the most precious family heirloom of all: a magical wooden chest, chained and locked with powerful spells. In it, she kept her parents' Kamar-Taj robes and some of their most iconic ballet costumes. Their journals and family photos, the urns with their ashes and, on top of the pile, Odette's remains.

Odile took out her mother's robes with the utmost care and laid them out on her bed. She then rearranged the contents of the chest, lingering on a framed photograph of her and her sister decked out in matching pink tutus for their first ballet lesson.

Odile put the picture down. As much as she cherished those memories, a darkness had settled over them in recent years.

"Now, then." The chest sealed itself shut when she closed it and buried it in the depths of her closet.

Odile needed a bit of magical help to make sense of her mother's favorite outfit. It consisted of various layers and varying shades of green—to compliment Abigail Proctor's eyes of jade. Sadly, both daughters had inherited their father's blue eyes but that little detail did nothing to deter Odile from her task.

"Perfect."

Odile admired herself in her full-length mirror, from every possible angle. For the final touch, she retrieved her sling ring and attached it to her belt. She practiced sliding her fingers into it and hanging it back on her belt a couple of times, like a cowboy getting ready for a duel.

"That'll do," she concluded after a while and put the ring on.

With a deep breath, she raised her hand and began to spin it, her eyebrows knitted together in intense concentration. At first, there were only sparks. But with every spin, more and more sparks melded into a continuous flow of energy, which grew into a gateway. Odile shrieked, excited.

"Blimey, I've still got it!"

She did a little victory tap dance before she stepped from her bedroom into the Sanctum's Chamber of Relics. It didn't make her feel as out-of-place as before, but it still gave her shivers.

As she remembered what a fickle maze the London Sanctum used to be, Odile regretted not taking the subway to Greenwich Village. Trying to find someone in a vast building full of magic was pretty much like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. She should've gotten Stephen's number.

Alas, she hadn't, so she braced herself for magical twists and traps and set out to wander hallways, pop in and out of rooms, ask around for Dr. Strange on the rare occasions that she came across someone. At long last, she made it to the front hall, where Stephen was talking to a woman.

"Morning, Doc!" Odile greeted, loudly. She was damn proud of her achievement.

Christine looked up to the staircase and had to do a double take. "Short chat, huh?"

"It's not—" _what it looks like_ , he was going to say…

…but Odile had to butt in. "You're such a hard man to find!" She hopped down the stairs, cheerful and oblivious. "Who's this?"

Christine glared at them in turn.

"Ooh, I like her," Odile cooed. "There's fire in those eyes. Odile Proctor, nice to meet you, love." She held out her hand but Christine ignored it.

Stephen tried to take control of the situation. "Odile, this is…Dr. Christine Palmer. Christine, Miss Proctor is—"

" _Miss Proctor_?" Odile parroted. "I thought we agreed you'd call me Odile."

"Oh, so now you're on a first-name basis with Salomé?" Christine stared agape at the man who'd been trying so hard to rekindle their romance, yet somehow always managed to fail miserably. "Please don't tell me you brought her home last night."

"He did," Odile replied before he could speak, "why?"

Stephen closed his eyes, almost able to hear his heart and hopes shatter.

"Unbelievable." Christine backed away. " _Un_ -believable. I—I don't know, I honestly haven't the slightest idea why I keep—No, you know what? This is it. This is it, Stephen." She heaved a sigh of defeat. "I give up."

With tears in her eyes, Christine evaded Stephen's grasp and stomped away. For the second time in as many days, Dr. Strange cursed his luck in love. But now he had an outlet for his anger.

"How…did you get…in here?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

Odile showed off her bejeweled fingers, grinning. "Bling ring."

That took him aback enough to tame his temper. "But how? I thought—"

"Just because I didn't have one doesn't mean I can't use it." She expertly attached the sling ring to her belt, striking a pose with her hands on her hips.

Dr. Strange briefly pointed with his chin at her. "What's with the get-up?"

"You don't like it?" Odile did a quick twirl. "I thought you'd appreciate it. It belonged to my mother."

"I do appreciate the effort, but new disciples wear plain white uniforms."

Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. "I'm not a new disciple, though, am I?"

She followed Stephen as he flew up the stairs, and had to do a light jog to keep up with him.

"I mean, my parents homeschooled me and I did some basic training at the London Sanctum after my surgery. I can still teleport! That…that should count for something, shouldn't it?"

Stephen stopped so abruptly that she bumped into his cloak. He turned around and hovered dangerously close to her face. "Plain. White. Uniform."

"Okay, fine," she yielded. "Where do I get one?"

"Kamar-Taj, where you will train with Master Wong." A subtle smirk flashed across his lips for a second.

"Right, about that—"

"What now?"

"I have to be back for my show by six." Dr. Strange opened his mouth but Odile held up her finger. "I signed a contract, Doc. Not only that, but after everything I've done to be able to keep dancing, I'd rather get killed than give it up."

Stephen rubbed his forehead, thinking. "You know what? _Fine_ ," he burst out, "have it your way! Get killed if that's what you'd like. There's absolutely no point in trying to save your life if you have zero qualms about ruining mine!"

Silence. Then, "Damn, Doc! Is it your time of the month?"

His clenched fists trembled with fury. "Say another word," he enunciated slowly, "and I'll confiscate your _bling_ ring before I _teleport_ your ass on the Everest."

Despite the strong urge to spit a retort, Odile mimed zipping her lips and held up her arms in surrender, shrugging.

Dr. Strange levitated away, part of him wondering whether it might have been a better idea to use her as bait and lure out the serial sorcerer killer. Things could have taken care of themselves then.

Should he have been worried about how long it took him to banish the thought? Maybe, but he was more worried about the fact that he could soon commit his first willful murder.


	3. Part one, Chapter III

III.

Odile embraced the plain uniform and the strictness of Master Wong. Having started out in classical ballet before her switch to modern dance, Odile was no stranger to harsh, painful drills and stern teachers. Within a week, she became one of the best Kamar-Taj newcomers, despite having to juggle her training with show rehearsals and performances.

Within a month, however, the constant teleporting between time zones took its toll. She had just opened a gateway from her dressing room into the New York Sanctum and collapsed through it at Stephen's feet. She was breathing heavily, struggling with an irregular heartbeat.

He knelt to take her pulse. It was the most erratic pulse he'd ever taken, and he couldn't make much of it, except that both of Odile's hearts had gone haywire.

"Shit." He quickly created a portal to the Metro General and scooped up the barely conscious Odile. He put her down in the janitor closet, checking her pulse before he went to fetch Christine.

She wasn't very happy to see him. "What now, Stephen?"

"I need a cardioversion machine, stat. And an ultrasound."

"What for?"

"Atrial fibrillation. I think."

"You _think_? Stephen—"

"I don't have time to argue, Christine! Please, just do this. Discreetly. Where do I find you?"

She gave him the number of a room on the second floor and he rushed back to Odile. Her breathing was downright ragged now.

Christine was just bringing the cardioversion machine into the room when Stephen teleported in there with Odile and hooked her up to an IV.

"Salomé?"

"Yes."

"What happened to her?" Christine helped him bare Odile's chest and was surprised to see the scar—which Odile was now too weak to conceal. "Is that…"

"Yes." Dr. Strange was focused on getting a clear echo, eyes glued to the screen of the ultrasound machine.

Dr. Palmer blinked at the ultrasound image, to make sure she wasn't seeing double. "Is that…a second heart?"

"Yes." Stephen had Christine clean up the patient's chest and administer a sedative while he prepared the cardioversion machine. Once ready, he placed each pad just above each heart and waited, monitoring the ECG display. If he didn't get the timing right, he could send her into cardiac arrest.

"Okay." The machine beeped, all charged up. "Clear." He pushed the button and the electric shock hitting her body made Odile jolt up and cry out in pain.

"It's all right," Christine hurried to comfort her. "You're all right, it's all done." She smiled at the blank-faced Odile and gently lowered her on the bed.

Still tense, but stabilized, Odile surveyed her surroundings, wide-eyed in her sedative-induced trance. Dr. Strange breathed a sigh of relief.

"What the… _fuck_ was that?" Odile asked, staring at the ceiling.

"Relax," Dr. Palmer urged her.

Dr. Strange, on the other hand, was chuckling. "That was me, shocking your hearts into shape."

"Hmm…" Odile ceased to fight it and went to sleep. Lack thereof due to teleportation jetlag was what had caused the whole thing in the first place.

"Could you look after her for a while?" Stephen asked Christine. "I have to go."

"Of course you do." Dr. Palmer crossed her arms. "But yes, I'll keep an eye on her and make sure nobody finds out."

"Thank you, Christine. And I'm sorry. I mean that."

She didn't reply. He went over and put a hand on her shoulder. She also didn't move, so he leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead.

Master Wong was sorry to hear that Odile couldn't continue her training at the Kamar-Taj—even though he didn't show it. Dr. Strange decided to oversee Odile's training himself, at the Sanctum.

"That way, it'll be easier for her to balance her schedule, without exerting herself to the point of…heart failure."

"Or," Master Wong said, "you could just pull her from the show."

"No, not an option." He knew very well what it was like to have the hardest thing you worked for in your life snatched away from you. And he wasn't about to do it to somebody else. "Unfortunately."

"Then why did you send her to Kamar-Taj?"

Stephen avoided Wong's gaze.

"Given her…unique condition, surely you knew something like this could happen?"

Dr. Strange maintained his silence. He found it difficult to admit it to himself that rage may have blinded him. Besides, he'd intended for her to experience the Kamar-Taj that had made him a believer.

He'd been mistaken.

Christine brought Odile to the Sanctum the next morning. She was still dead asleep, Stephen had to come and get her from Christine's car.

"She should be fine," Dr. Palmer said. "I think she just needs to rest up. There was nothing else wrong with her, except…you know, she has two hearts."

Stephen gave a small smile. "We live in a world where a WWII veteran was thawed out of the Arctic and can still kick ass, a billionaire flies around in a metal suit, a radiation-exposed scientist turns into a green giant…and you can't get over a woman with two hearts?"

"Yeah, well, I never had to correct atrial fibrillation in any of the other three."

They laughed together and for a moment, that was everything. Nothing else in the world, no aliens, no mythological deities, no alternate dimensions, just two people in love sharing a laugh.

"Stephen." Christine broke the spell, because she felt it was the right moment for her to ask her questions.

"Yes?"

"Why did Salomé move in with you here?"

The subtle implications of her tone panicked him. "Christine, you've seen the house—it's huge. And I mean, _huge._ We have separate bedrooms, we don't see much of each other. In fact, I've barely seen her this past month."

Dr. Palmer frowned. "How come?"

"Well, she's…" Stephen didn't know how to explain it. "She's a sorceress."

Christine quirked an eyebrow. "Right. You mean she's weird, like you've become since your trip to Kathmandu?"

"Exactly. She's been training in Kathmandu, but living and working in New York, and that messed up her circadian rhythm."

"Okay. So…what, are you having Weirdos Anonymous meetings in there?" She nodded to the house.

He grinned. "Pretty much, yeah. Me and Salomé and all the other weirdos."

"Glad we sorted that out." Christine took a step back to open her car. "You should probably take her up now."

"Thanks for driving her over." Stephen tilted his head and his cloak detached from his shoulders, floating into the car and enveloping Odile like a cocoon.

Dr. Palmer watched it float into the house and shook her head. "I really wish a two-hearted woman was the biggest weirdo in my life."

Stephen chuckled and pulled her in a hug. "Not a chance."


	4. Part one, Chapter IV

IV.

Odile expertly dodged and blocked Stephen's staff time and again.

After a week of mystic recuperation—during which she never missed a meal, show or yoga session—Dr. Strange decided to resume her training. But first, he had to see how far she'd gotten.

She bent backwards as his staff drew an arc an inch above her nose. Soon as the coast was clear, she did the full flip and poised herself on the offense. Dr. Strange avoided her attacks with ease.

There was a dancer's grace to her movements, an ease that stemmed not from combat experience, like Stephen's, but from a high degree of flexibility. Light on her feet and more resilient than her slim build appeared, it was no wonder she'd made remarkable progress in the space of a month.

Their staffs clashed and Odile made a fine job of pushing back. But her strength couldn't rival Stephen's. He felt her falter, briefly withdrew and delivered a surprise blow that toppled her to the floor.

"I'll admit it," he said, "I'm impressed. You can take a hit and you can take a fall. Both things more important than a lot of people think." He helped her up and held onto her wrist to check her pulse.

"You forget I'm a dancer, Doc," she chuckled. "Taking hits, and especially falls, is part of the job description."

Both her heartbeats seemed to be on track. "How's your astral projection?"

"It works now that I actually have the energy for it."

Stephen frowned. "What do you mean, _it works_?"

"I mean…I can do it."

He was incredulous. "You learned how to project your astral form in _a month_?"

"Well, I _re-_ learned it. My mum first taught me when I was five—"

"Show me."

"What—now?"

"Yes," he growled, "right now."

"Alright, boss man." She sat down on the mat and crossed her legs, with her arms relaxed in her lap.

Her breathing steadied into a slow, inaudible pace and her astral form began to rise from her body.

"See? Woo-hoo!" She did a pirouette and leapt in a half-hearted grand jeté through the air.

Stephen had to swallow his disbelief. Was he bitter that Odile had easily mastered something that had taken him months to figure out? Only a little. He sought revenge, however—a practical revenge: the one thing Odile never concerned herself with at the Kamar-Taj were books and he determined to change that.

As if sussing out his plot, Odile flew off through the wall—through several walls, in fact—slalomed between the display cases in the Chamber of Relics and came to a halt in the library. It was empty, save for a black-clad man reclined in a chair. He looked up at the ghost hovering above his table.

"You're…"

"Loki." He closed his book and let the chair fall on its front legs. "You may have heard of me."

"Odile Proctor," she introduced herself, "nice to meet you, love."

Confused, Loki tried to shake the hand she extended but his went right through.

"Whoops. Sorry!" She put her hands away and folded her legs Indian style. "Love what you did with Manhattan, by the way."

"Thank you—"

"Although, I do have to say, I'd rather you and your alien army had waited a couple of days. My show got canceled on premiere night."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, me too." Odile shrugged. "Everybody died."

"What show was it?" Loki asked, out of a strange sense of politeness.

" _Swan Lake_."

"Let me guess," Dr. Strange unexpectedly interrupted, "you were the black swan."

She grinned. "I was both Odile _and_ Odette. Well, I was _going_ to be. It never happened. Though funnily enough…," she trailed off, thoughtful. "I did become both afterwards—"

"Yes, fascinating!" the doctor cut her off. "Now back in your body. And you," he pointed his menacing forefinger at Loki, "you'd better stay put unless you want to spend the rest of your time here restrained and locked up."

"Don't worry, doctor, I'm not going to smite any of your disciples." He stood up, tapping the hardcover of his book. "This should contain the boredom."

Odile watched the exchange, intrigued, keeping her eye on Loki until he was out of sight. Then she returned to her body and teleported into the library. "So, Doc…what's the god of mischief doing in your precious NY Sanctum?"

Dr. Strange picked out book after book and stacked them on the table. "I'm nannying him while his brother is off on some Earth-saving errand or other."

"Since the Avengers are…going through a tough time?"

"Something like that."

"I see…" Odile flipped through the book on top of the pile. "Do I, uh…" She scrunched up her nose. "Do I have to read all of this?"

A smug smirk braced the doctor's lips. Sweet, petty payback. "Yeah. All of it. Pro tip: your astral projection can read in your sleep." He patted the top of the stack. "Have fun."

Odile groaned. Fun was the last thing she had. That evening, Loki returned to the library and found her having a nap.

"I take it you don't like reading."

She snapped awake and nearly fell out of her chair. "No," she yawned, "not a big fan."

"Then what are you a big fan of?"

Odile narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you trying to make conversation with me?"

Loki nodded once. "Since you seem to be the only person in this enormous building who wouldn't rather kill me than look me in the eye. Even though you probably have more reasons than most."

"I never was one to cling onto the past."

"Wise decision."

She smiled.

He browsed through the book she'd dozed off on. "Interesting."

Odile yawned again. "You think?"

Loki took up the book and began to read aloud. His voice enthralled her, although she didn't understand a word. But when he chanced a glimpse at her numb expression, he stopped mid-sentence and she didn't even notice.

"Yeah," she drawled, eyes half-closed, "you probably shouldn't be doing that."

Loki chuckled. "What should I be doing, then?"

"Hmm…" She drummed her fingers on the table, pensive. "You know…" The drumming ceased. "You should come watch my show one day." She winked at him. "I think you'd like it."

"Oh? What sort of a…show is that?"

"A dance show. Here." A ticket manifested itself in her open palm and she handed it to him.

Loki examined it with interest.

"It's what I'm a big fan of," she said.

"Oh?"

"Dancing. It's, literally, the only reason I'm alive."

"How come?"

Odile hesitated. "That's…a story for another time." She got up, with the stack of books in her arms. "But if you do decide to come round to one of my shows—you should probably wear a tux. It's…sort of a black-tie affair."

"Oh, I think I have just the thing. Thank you, Odile Proctor."

"Let's just stick to Odile, shall we!" she called over her shoulder.

Loki smirked at his _Salomé_ ticket. "If you insist…"


	5. Part one, Chapter V

V.

Loki had to wait a few days for the perfect moment to sneak out of the Sanctum. Wearing all black and a face no one could recognize, he walked a couple of blocks before he took a cab to Broadway. Once there, it wasn't hard to find the theater—a huge banner picturing Odile in costume hung across the building in question.

Loki accepted a leaflet from the attendant who checked his ticket. As it was a modern dance performance, with hardly any spoken lines, the leaflet explained the show's basic storyline: how Salomé, through her mesmerizing dance, got her lustful stepfather to decapitate the prophet Jokanaan.

Another attendant helped Loki find his seat. Just in time. Soon as he made himself comfortable, the lights went out and the curtains rose. A banquet had been set up on stage, lavish and decadent, which Jokanaan looked on from his cage.

Enter Salomé. Bored out of her mind, she attempted to seduce the incarcerated prophet, failing miserably. This prompted her lethal resolve to kiss Jokanaan at any cost—and also caused a young soldier hopelessly infatuated with her to kill himself.

Later during the banquet, she rejected the incestuous advances of King Herod, her stepfather-slash-uncle, until he promised to give her anything she wanted in return. She agreed to dance for him, after he vowed to keep his word.

So it began, Salomé's dance of the seven veils. Critics had praised it to the skies, claiming the public had to witness it for themselves to fully comprehend its magnificence. Every night, the dance made jaws drop and heartbeats quicken. Tonight was no exception.

Loki marveled at Salomé's power to subjugate the audience. She catered to their basest needs, awakened their instincts, stimulated the dark desires they struggled to suppress by daylight—and for that, they idolized her. They were all catatonic by the end of her performance, gulping and licking their dried lips. The music stopped, Salomé gathered her veils around herself and demanded the head of Jokanaan on a silver platter.

A shrill cry erupted in the theater when the prophet was dragged out of his cage and his head cut off. Even Loki was surprised. He hadn't expected a fake decapitation to be so…authentic. 'Blood' oozed onto the stage and the bloodied, hairy head of Jokanaan tumbled at Salomé's feet. A manservant picked it up and placed it on a tray.

Salomé grabbed it and kissed it.

Amidst groans of disgust, the people got up and clapped. Loki joined them, although he applauded something else. Odile had been right. He had enjoyed himself and she deserved to be thanked. Once the curtain fell for good and the crowd began to file out, Loki strolled backstage, through winding stairwells and corridors, to Odile's dressing room. He arrived when she was in the shower.

She felt his presence and poked her head into the room. "Won't be long," she assured him.

He undid his disguise. "I'll wait."

"Make yourself comfortable, love," Odile winked and disappeared back into her tiny en-suite bathroom.

Loki looked around himself for a place to sit but something else caught his eye. Beside the makeup mirror, a massive promotional poster of _Salomé_ had been plastered on the wall. It depicted Salomé in the early phase of her sinful dance, still wrapped in most of her veils, against a blood-red background. He stood admiring it from top to bottom.

"That's a good pose, don't you think?"

Odile emerged from the bathroom in the same embroidered silk robe she had worn when she first met Dr. Strange. _He_ hadn't stared at her breasts. The god of mischief, on the other hand…

"You've gotta be shitting me," she muttered to herself as Loki approached her, his eyes fixed on her cleavage. "You _are_ a man after all, aren't you?"

The tips of his fingers touched her chest just below her collarbones, unveiling her scar.

Her left eyebrow twitched. "Oh"

"You have…two hearts." He looked up at her face. "But how?"

Odile grinned. "Magic!" she whispered, wide-eyed. "Also, science. But mainly…," she waved her jazz hands for suspense,"…magic!"

Their gazes locked as if bound by a spell. Loki let his fingers travel up her neck, to her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin. Her breath hitched and she took a step forward, to grab the lapels of his pitch-black jacket, rising on her tiptoes to reach his lips.

He lowered his head into the kiss, not too much, but just enough to taunt her. She overcame his tricks, however, and seized his cruel mouth. He played along for a heated minute, then he broke away and gripped her elbows to keep her at bay.

He pulled her close. "I want you to dance for me," he whispered in her ear, "I want you to bewitch me like Salomé did her king. And if you do…"

The reward he promised her made Odile shiver. "Do you swear on it?" She hooked her pinky with his. "Can I trust…your thirst?"

The pinkies puzzled him but he didn't allow that to ruin the moment. "I do," he let go, "and you can."

Odile bit her lip and brought up a hand to her chest, to mask her scar.

"No, don't," Loki prevented her, tracing the whole length of it between her breasts. "I like it." Slowly, he slid backwards until he sat on the edge of the small bed.

Her hand then fell to the flimsy belt of her robe. It only took a finger to untie it.


	6. Part two: Odette, Chapter I

Part two: Odette

I.

Loki stepped on the sleeve of his jacket as he got up—his suit lay strewn in crumpled pieces all around the king-sized bed.

"Where is this?" he asked.

Odile remained tangled in the sheets. She'd lost her robe in her dressing room just before she opened the portal to her apartment.

"My old bedroom," she answered.

Rising to his full height and gloriously naked, Loki walked over to the large windows looking out to Central Park. "Nice view," he remarked.

Odile joined him. "It is lovely, isn't it?" Nighttime NY always was, with its skyline lit up like a Christmas tree all year round.

Loki watched her as she put her arm around him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm surprised you can still walk."

She laughed. "Who do you think I am, love?"

"What's up with that?"

"What?"

He frowned. " _Love_."

"Oh, don't worry, it's just a thing I say." Odile sneered at her own reflection. "My sister always hated it. Said _love_ shouldn't be taken in vain."

"Your sister," Loki mused. "You never told me what happened to her."

"I killed her," Odile murmured. "And then I took her heart."

She lifted her head and he glanced down at her chest.

"That's right." She caressed her scar. "Odile and Odette, and a tiny bit of magic, are working together to keep my blood pumping…and my feet dancing."

A wicked grin of malicious delight adorned his lips. Hers welcomed his passionate kiss and she clung onto him as he carried her back to the bed.

When she woke up, she was alone in her room at the Sanctum. Or so she thought.

"Where were you last night?" Stephen's voice boomed just behind her.

Odile sat up, cocooned in her blanket. She had nothing on underneath. "My old home."

"What the hell for?"

She shrugged. "I got sentimental."

Stephen didn't buy it. "Since when do you get sentimental?"

Odile groaned, too sleepy to otherwise argue. "I just do, okay? Leave me alone!"

"You know, you're gonna get yourself killed one of these days."

"Can't wait!" she quipped and plopped back down. "At least death will let me sleep."

"Oh, you've had enough sleep." Intent to get her out of bed, Stephen magically ripped the blanket off her and regretted it the following instant. "Oh, God…" He looked away and let her have her blanket.

Odile stuck out her tongue.

"Half an hour," he told her. "Don't make me come back."

Odile mock-saluted. "Yessir."

Now she was alone. She dragged her ass out of bed, washed up, slipped into her uniform and had breakfast, consistently grumbling throughout. She was two minutes late on the mat and the good doctor taxed her for it. His ruthless blows gave her more bruises than usual and knocked her down harder.

"By the looks of it," Stephen commented, "you're not done being sentimental."

Way out of breath and struggling to steady her heartbeat, Odile could only pant in response.

"Let's call it a day. Perhaps the rest of your time will be better spent in the library."

Stephen put his staff away and didn't bother to check on her before he left.

"Brilliant," Odile mumbled, sprawled on the floor.

"Did somebody get found out?"

Odile grunted her reply. "How come _you_ didn't get found out?"

"You forget who you're talking to, _love_." Loki stooped to help her up.

She wagged her forefinger at him. "I saw what you did there."

"Good. So what are you up to now?" They started to walk down the hall together, side by side.

"Uh…" Odile sniffed one of her armpits and grimaced. "A shower." Her stomach growled. "And lunch."

"I'll see you later, then?" He stopped. "At the library?"

Odile nodded. "At the library."

He smiled. She glanced left and right to make sure no one was around and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. A quick peck on the lips, nothing more, but enough to confound him.

"What was that?" Loki whispered, baffled.

Odile feigned ignorance. "What was what? You'd better go along now, Doc's in a bad mood today and might just make good on his kinky promise." She winked. "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"No, we would not." He mirrored her earlier actions, checking if the coast was clear before he swooped in for a deeper, stronger kiss, his hands cradling her head. "I'll see you later, Odile Proctor. And when I do, you'll wish the doctor did make good on that promise."

"I'm looking forward to it." She licked her lips and extracted herself form his grasp. Now she really did need a shower.

Lunch was Odile's time-out. For someone with such an active lifestyle, eating right didn't only mean choosing the right food. She had to sit still and recharge—usually with the mellowest jazz in the background, the kind that didn't make her burst into dance in the middle of her meal. It relaxed and energized her at the same time.

After lunch, she brought nachos with guacamole and strawberry smoothies to the library. Loki was waiting for her at the table he'd almost claimed as his own.

"What's this?" he asked when she gave him a smoothie.

"Blended fruits. Strawberries, mostly." Odile powered up her laptop and reached for a nacho chip.

Loki cautiously tasted his drink. "Interesting. And that?" He pointed to the nachos.

She showed him how to dip the chip and eat it.

"Hmm," he mumbled, chewing.

"Is that a good hmm or a bad hmm? I made the guac myself. The green stuff."

Loki tried another nacho, scooping up more guacamole.

"So it's good, then," Odile chuckled. She reverted her attention to the computer and flipped a book open.

Slurps and crunches occasionally interrupted the silence that settled. After she ran out of snacks, Odile asked random rhetorical questions to keep herself awake. That could only get her through an hour of reading, however. Within sixty minutes, her eyes strained to stay open.

"Ugh!" She slammed her laptop shut and her head on it.

"Tired?"

She propped herself on her elbows. "I swear, I don't know how you do it. I'd take ten hours of sparring over an hour buried in a book." She got up to stretch out. Her whole body ached from too much sitting down.

Loki snuck up on her as she raised her arms high above her head, then twisted her torso, smiling when their noses met. Her arm fell around his shoulders while his hands rested on her ribcage and came around to her abdomen.

"Maybe you should take a break from reading," he recommended, "and exercise."

She turned around to fully face him. "What would you recommend?"

He lifted her up and planted her ass on a nearby empty table.

"No," she protested. "Not here! What if somebody walks in on us?"

He assaulted her neck. "That's half the fun. The other half…" His hand climbed up her thigh, beneath her robes. She bit her lip. "…will be to see you squirm in your struggle to keep quiet. Because I will make you scream, _Odile_."


	7. Part two, Chapter II

II.

A box of donuts with a birthday card on top awaited Odile when she got to her dressing room after a morning rehearsal. It brought a smile to her lips. She didn't have much in the way of friends, never had, especially not amongst her coworkers. So it warmed her hearts to know that at least one person had remembered her birthday.

"I hope you still like donuts," a British-accented voice said.

Odile picked up her little present. "I still do. Thanks, Sami."

"You're welcome. Happy birthday, my sweet summer child!"

Odile laughed as she hugged him. "Thanks, love. How's your London arse coping with the heatwave?" She unlocked her dressing room and invited Samir in.

He fell on her bed. "Oh, it's bloody awful, I'd forgotten how hot it could get!"

Odile offered him a donut. "Global warming, mate! Planet Earth is burning up."

"But your New Yorker arse is used to it, surely." Samir bit into his donut. "Born and bred, innit?"

She shrugged. "Well, I did spend most of my summers at my Nan's in the Highlands so I don't exactly fancy the heat, either."

Samir licked his fingers, as he finished his donut. "I'll leave you to your cold shower, then," he winked. "Any special plans tonight? It's your twenty-fifth, after all. You've officially begun to die."

Odile tilted her head. "I dunno. I might get up to something."

"Have fun if you do." He sauntered over to kiss her cheek before he left. "See ya!"

Once the idea crept into her brain, Odile became determined to have fun indeed.

"So." She plopped down at the library table with another bowl of chips and guacamole. Loki looked up from his book. "How far do these…concealing abilities of yours go?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

Odile grinned. "I wanna go out and dance."

"And what do you need me for?"

"Well…" She stuffed a whole nacho into her mouth. "First of all, I want you to come with me," she chewed. "Second of all," she swallowed, "I want you to cover up for us. What say you?"

His fingers reached out for a chip, dipped it in guacamole and brought it to his mouth. "It can be done," he said and ate the chip, "however, I don't see why I should." He licked a speck of guac from his thumb.

Odile pouted. "Come on, it'll be _fun_! We're not going far, just uptown to Harlem. It's not far from where I li— _used_ to live, either, so we can walk back to that when we've had enough booze and jazz." She winked.

A sly expression unfolded across his features. "I see. Have you got a plan?"

"Sort of."

She thought they could first teleport to her old bedroom, get changed, then teleport again in the vicinity of the club they were going to and walk from there. Loki gave his seal of approval, adding that he would meet her in her room and cast an illusion to mask her absence.

They carried it all out without the slightest difficulty that evening, after the show. To avoid attracting attention, Odile donned one of her rare black dresses. She wasn't very happy with her choice, though.

"We might as well be attending a funeral," she commented, looking at their reflections in the mirror. Loki had stuck to his old favorite, the all-black tux.

He chuckled. "I'm sure we can find one somewhere."

She scowled at him. "Sounds just about lovely, except I geared up for swinging tonight. Oh, well—should I go for green?"

Odile returned into her closet and picked out a seaweed-colored chiffon affair, loose and flowy. She changed Loki's tie from black to green to match her new outfit and replaced her red shoes with nudes.

"Much better," she declared.

From the bedroom, they landed in a back alley right beside a stinky dumpster. They emerged into the main street as if they were two casual people taking a casual late-night stroll and soon disappeared through a pair of double doors into a jazz club.

The crowd and the noise initially displeased Loki, despite his disguise. He'd been to banquets before, but nothing as crazy as this. On the dance floor, men were throwing their women around, jumping and flailing their arms. Even the band on stage seemed to have gone wild with their instruments.

"What _is_ this place?" Repugnance resounded in his voice. "It's like they're all possessed."

Odile laughed. "Yeah, by jazz! Come on!"

She dragged him into the lively crowd and began to flail her own arms and legs. He stood there, like a statue, even as she twirled around him and spurred him on.

"Why did I ever agree to this," he sighed, shaking his head. Odile couldn't hear him over the loud music. He pulled her close, to speak into her ear. "Where can one get a drink in this madhouse?" he asked.

They'd been facing the stage so she turned him around and pointed to the bar. "Knock yourself out," she said. "Or rather, don't. I reckon we need you conscious."

He smirked. "Do we?"

She craned her neck to whisper against his lips. "Yes." His hands rested on the small of her back as she reached up and kissed him.

Still in a sea of frantic dancing, they were bound to have someone bump into them sooner or later. When it happened, Odile had to prevent Loki from lashing out at the half-drunk man who broke their kiss.

"I think you'd better go have that drink," she told him. "Before you inadvertently kill somebody."

Loki glared. "It wouldn't be inadvertent."

"Right. Run along now, drown those murderous urges. I'll be here, swingin'!"

She shoved him on his way and sank into the mass of people. Loki hopped onto a bar stool, requesting strong alcohol. He'd completely lost sight of her.

"Your girl dump you?" the bartender asked, passing him an empty glass which she filled with ice and whisky. "Or your guy?"

Loki glanced up at her. "Not quite, no." He took a sip of his drink and smiled. "I expect to see her again before the end of the night. Oh, no, leave the bottle—thanks."

The bartender moved on to another customer and Loki attempted to catch a glimpse of Odile. Failing to see her, he focused on his glass of whisky. The ice had completely melted by the third refill. When Odile rejoined him, bathed in sweat and almost out of breath, he was halfway through the bottle.

"Whew!" she wheezed, jumping on the stool beside him. "What a night!" She twisted her damp hair in a makeshift bun and ordered a fruity virgin cocktail.

"Are you sure you don't want some of this?" Loki held up his whisky bottle.

"I don't usually drink," Odile hesitated, "but I think I'll make an exception tonight."

He looked surprised. "You don't? Why?"

"It's fairly simple, really—thank you." Her cocktail arrived and she reached for the whisky bottle to spice it up. "It's not that dancers don't drink, I know plenty who do. I just choose not to, most of the time. I prefer to be alert, rather than…benumbed."

Loki emptied his glass. "This hasn't been doing much numbing, sadly."

Odile took a gulp from her spiked cocktail. "Do you hate it here that much?"

"I just don't see the point of it." He refilled his glass. "Why did you bring me to this place?"

"Well, it's my birthday." She raised her glass. "So cheers to me!"

Loki followed suit. "Cheers."

Then nostalgia seemed to take hold of her mien. "I used to come here all the time in high-school. I fancied the pianist, you see. He saw me dance, asked me out and brought me round at the crack of dawn when the place was all locked up. He fucked me on the piano and then I never saw him again."

"Bastard."

Odile chuckled. "Wasn't his fault, though. I got grounded for spending the whole night out and by the time I could come to the club again, there was a different pianist. And a new, lovely bartender, first girl I kissed."

That last sentence piqued his interest. "Oh?"

She clicked her tongue. "Yeah, I swing both ways."

"Do you now?" As he uttered that sentence, Loki's body began to shift until it became a gorgeous brunette with eyes like the sky.

Odile's mouth hung agape. "Bloody hell—" Clearing her throat, she lowered her voice and leaned forward. "Can you do a redhead? I have a serious redhead fetish. Scottish gingers in particular—"

Loki's new transformation stunned Odile to silence. Her breathing trembled.

"How's this?" 'he' asked.

"Fuck. Me. Sideways," Odile blurted, absentminded.

Natasha Romanoff, in the full glory of her spy gear, poured herself another stiff one. "Gladly," she murmured into her glass. "Happy birthday, _love_."

Their make-out session started against the door of one of the stalls in the ladies' bathroom and continued between the dresses of Odile's closet. She and Natasha stumbled out into the bedroom, straining to remove their clothes until they fell on the bed.

Odile discarded her dress before she crawled on top of Natasha. "Lose the suit, will you?" she muttered against her neck. "Keep the boobs."

Odile rose to look in 'his' eyes. In a moment, the Black Widow was nude.

Odile glanced down and stooped to take a breast into her mouth. "They do look quite good on you."

Natasha's fingers were in her hair as Odile went further south along the smooth, hot skin of the redhead's abdomen. Surely a master assassin should have had some scars but Loki portrayed a flawless rendition of the Black Widow. Odile paused to consider the matter for a minute, then realized such details were irrelevant. Shagging Fake Natasha was better than never shagging Natasha at all.

Best birthday present _ever_.


	8. Part two, Chapter III

III.

"So why are you here, really?" Odile crossed her arms on Loki's bare chest—his actual, male chest. As much fun as fem Loki was—especially young-Tina-Turner Loki or Mila-Kunis Loki—the real thing, the body he'd been born with, ultimately triumphed. "Did they run out of prison space in Asgard?"

He pulled up the covers to her shoulders, keeping his hands around her. "Something like that, yes."

They chuckled. She kissed the top of his sternum and crawled up to lie beside him. "Really, now. Why?"

Loki sighed. "My…brother, he wanted me to help him get out of Asgard. Secretly. I'm the only one who can. Though as you might expect, I'm not privy to more details."

"Yeah, sure you ain't. After all, you're Loki of Asgard, the champion of goodwill gestures."

"Oh, but enough about me." He ran his fingers through her hair, a gentle, soothing motion that almost made her purr. "Tell me about you. And this place that you always seem to come back to."

Odile sat up, a bittersweet smile on her lips. "It's where I grew up. This used to be my parents' bedroom."

"Oh?" His eyebrows jumped with the question. "Is this where they conceived you, then?"

She laughed. "No, actually. Rumor has it that a quickie between acts did the trick. They fell in love on stage and made love backstage. A performer's life." Odile paused. "You know, my parents hadn't counted on two kids. They were only expecting the one but then I came out. Surprise!" An awkward giggle punctuated that sentence. "Do you know _Swan Lake_?"

Loki shook his head. "I only know that you mentioned it once. You were going to do that in New York when I…"

"It's a ballet piece," she said. "I'm not a ballerina. What I do is called contemporary dance. I was going to perform in a contemporary dance adaptation of _Swan Lake_ which is, like, _the_ most famous ballet ever. The story goes like this: the beautiful princess Odette was cursed by an evil sorcerer and became a swan that can only regain its human form at night. The curse can only be broken by…well, a true, loyal, undying love."

"Of course," Loki scoffed.

"Yeah. So anyway, she finds her love—a prince, obviously—but the evil sorcerer's daughter, the evil witch Odile, disguises herself as Odette to seduce the prince and make him break his vow."

"Oh, dear."

"Betrayed, Odette has lost her chance to have the curse lifted and chooses to die, to break the spell. And then the idiot prince who fucked things up realizes he can't actually live without her and they drown themselves. Together."

"Oh, how utterly—dull!"

"I don't disagree." Odile slipped back beneath the covers. "But it's a hell of a piece. Normally, the same ballerina has to play both Odette and Odile and in the third act, the Black Swan has to pull off the hardest move in ballet."

"She sounds pretty amazing," Loki put in.

"Doesn't she?" Odile smiled. "But she is still the evil witch. My parents were ballet dancers, you see. They were only expecting one child and had thought of the name Odette. So when I unexpectedly turned up…they couldn't help naming me Odile. Can you imagine? Two passionate dancers, passionately in love, bring twin girls into the world—it's the obvious choice. It's, like…the most ballet thing ever."

"So your parents, inadvertently or not, designated you to be the black sheep of the family from birth?"

"Swan," Odile corrected, with half a smirk, "the black swan."

"The unworthy sibling."

"Yeah." They made eye-contact. "The unworthy sibling. Who went on to become neither a ballerina, nor a sorceress. I broke away from…from the mold. I chose my own path. Not radically different, but it was _my own_ , I crafted it through my own strength."

"And they couldn't bear it?"

Odile thought about it. "They did bear it. Bearing it was never the issue. But they never…encouraged it. Never did _more_ than bear it. You know, contemporary dance arose as a reaction to classical ballet. Basically, some badass ladies decided they'd had enough of the same old bullshit and came up with something new."

"Ah, I see…Just like contemporary dance rebelled against…classical…ballet—did I get this part right?"

"Uh-huh."

"So just like that, _you_ also rebelled against your parents and they didn't take it very well." He got up and leaned against the headboard. "And let me guess, your sister, the worthy sibling, behaved and complied."

"Yup." Odile slid to the edge of the bed. "She was on track to become an extraordinary ballerina but my parents, who were sorcerer and sorceress, wanted us to get at least basic sorcery training as well. I refused. Odette…did not."

"How ironic, isn't it?" He traced patterns along her exposed spine. "Odile the black swan would rather not be Odile the evil witch. What changed? Why are you diligently studying sorcery now?"

Odile stood up and wordlessly walked into the bathroom. The trip down memory lane wasn't doing her well and she didn't want Loki to witness her vulnerability. He wasn't even supposed to know her sob story, in the first place.

She'd only meant to blow off some steam when she accepted his offer. Her casual shags had a policy of no-beans-spilled, yet she'd opened up to a known criminal after a mere fortnight of furtive meet-ups.

Had she miscalculated the mischief?

"What are you thinking of?"

Odile started, clutching the showerhead to her chest. "Don't sneak up on me."

He grinned. "I never thought I could. I thought you'd…feel me coming."

She rolled her eyes and resumed her shower. "Lovely pun. I do switch off sometimes, you know?"

"Hmm, I wonder…" His hand traveled up her torso and cupped her breast. Two heartbeats thudded within, one fainter than the other. "You never can switch off, can you?"

She pushed him away. "Believe it or not, I do need my privacy."

"I see." He retraced his steps, lowering his head. "I'm sorry I reminded you of unpleasant things. I do know what that's like, being the unworthy sibling. The black…swan." His clothes began to materialize around him. "I can find my way back to the Sanctum. Take your time, I'll cover for you."

Odile could only return to her shower once she'd sensed him vanish. The silence, the solitude were counterproductive, however. They enabled her to stroll along memory lane, to relive painful moments and happy moments tainted by subsequent pain.

She got out the magic chest after she finished her shower. It'd been a gift from the Ancient One herself, upon the passing of John and Abigail Proctor. She'd allowed the twins to keep their parents' remains, after Odette had turned in their relics.

Abigail's robes were now on top of the pile. Odile realized Dr. Strange hadn't permitted her to update her outfit, even though she had already mastered her astral projection. But it didn't matter. Clothes were just clothes.

And memories, well…those were better off buried.


	9. Part two, Chapter IV

IV.

Odile transformed sentiment into determination during her daily sparring session with Stephen. She lasted more rounds than usual, without collapsing to the ground by the end of it. Her improvement did not go unnoticed.

"I take it you're done being sentimental," Stephen noted.

"Something like that," Odile was proud to reply. "By the way, Doc, I need to talk to you." She glanced around. "In private."

"Alright." Her serious mien troubled him. "Follow me."

He took her to the door that opened into the Kamar-Taj. She quirked an eyebrow.

"What?" he commented. "It doesn't get more private than this."

"Fair enough."

They sat in a secluded corner of the library, with cups of tea before them. "So what is it?"

Odile cut straight to the chase. Almost. "Do you know why Thor is on Earth?"

Stephen hadn't counted on such a question. "Why do you ask?"

"Because he sneaked out of Asgard. That's why Loki tagged along. He's the master of sneaking out."

"And how do you know that?"

"It's what I do." She took a sip of her tea. "I drink and I know things."

Stephen was confused. "You don't—you don't drink."

"Tyrion does."

"…Who?"

"Peter Dinklage, _Game of Thrones_. Fabulous dwarf." Odile drank her tea, reluctant to reveal her real source. She didn't have much of a choice, however.

"Loki told me," she said, staring at her nails to avoid Stephen's raised brow, "we've been chatting."

"You've been…chatting?"

"Mhm. Guy's a bookworm. Ran into him several times during my detention at the library."

"Oh, grow up, it's not—First of all, no one detained you, alright? Knowledge _is_ power. Physical training alone isn't gonna cut it. If you want to be a sorceress—"

"That's the thing, Doc," she interrupted him. "I don't. I just want to dance."

"Second of all," Dr. Strange carried on, unfazed, "I don't want you fraternizing with the god of mischief."

Odile pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "No fraternizing. Got it." She stood up.

"And, Odile…I get it." Stephen rose to his feet as well. "I really do. When I first came to Kathmandu, I was looking for a way to get my old life back. I was the best at what I did, until I lost it all in a stupid accident. My hands. My career. In a moment…gone. Everything. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "Now I've got a flying cloak and can make things out of thin air."

To demonstrate, he refilled her cup of tea with a flick of his wrist. "Sometimes you don't get to choose your path. The path chooses you."

Odile shook her head. "No. No, that's not me, Doc. I'm the evil twin."

"Says who?"

She pondered on her answer. "Listen, I only did this because I thought it'd be fun. Because I wanted better control over my magic. Both those things have happened. But I can't keep doing this. _Salomé_ won't last forever. I'll eventually have to find a new show, I might have to go back to London…In the long run, this isn't going to work."

"I should know," she huffed. "There was a time when my parents tried to balance dance and sorcery. After all, we're Proctors. We go way back to the Salem witches. But then they had kids and couldn't do either for a while."

Stephen opened the door to the Sanctum, frowning. "I'm sorry—are you saying…you want to start a family?"

"Who knows?" Odile shrugged. "One day, I might. Not right now. Right now I want to dance my ass off."

"Okay…" The doctor heaved a deep breath. "I hoped I wouldn't have to play this card but you give me no choice." He cleared his throat. "What this, um…this serial sorcerer killer is doing, actually, is steal his victims' magic. Which may or may not kill them but the consequences are devastating nevertheless."

Odile gulped.

"It probably wouldn't kill you," he added, "but it sure as hell won't let you keep dancing."

"So you're basically saying my career is doomed anyway?"

"No, that's—that's not it. Well, sort of—Dammit!" He waved his fist and sighed. "Where's the Ancient One when you need her? She would have convinced you to turn your life around in a heartbeat. Or two, in your case."

Odile smiled. "I appreciate the effort, Doc."

"Well, it's worthless if I can't make you understand."

"I understand, I just—"

"No, you don't! You haven't seen the things I've seen. The New York Incident, the battle of Greenwich—Sokovia? All of it, child's play! I have faced an entity so dark and powerful, it could live forever outside of time in its own dimension. Earth almost didn't exist anymore."

"Show-off," Odile muttered, although she didn't mean it.

"Old habits die hard, I guess."

They exchanged a look.

"Think about it, Odile." He halted as they came into the Chamber of Relics. "Think about the difference you could make."

"Do you know how my parents died, Doc?"

"Yes, I…" His voice faltered. "I read the records."

"They died trying to make a difference. You know, saving people, hunting—" She paused and chuckled. "No, never mind, that was just going to be another TV reference that would have gone over your head. Huh."

Something in one of the display cases caught her attention. She walked over to it. "I didn't know these were here. How did I not see them before?"

Two rings sat on cushions behind the glass. They were actually two halves of the same gimmel ring, dating back to the seventeenth century, made of gold and set with odd-shaped rubies framed by tiny golden fingers.

"The, uh…the Bassett Joint Ring, was it?" Odile placed her palm on the glass pane and turned to Stephen for confirmation.

As he opened his mouth to reply, the two rings hovered above their cushions and flew towards Odile's hand, joined together when they hit the glass. The rubies had formed a heart and the tiny golden hands clasped above it.

"Huh." Stephen smirked and freed the relic. It slipped of its own accord onto Odile's left ring finger.

Astounded, she gaped at the jewel, unable to say a word.

"Like I said," Dr. Strange whispered, "sometimes the path chooses you."

"I—I…I—" Her hand trembled. Grabbing her wrist, she balled her fist and flexed her fingers. The shock was too strong.

"Family heirloom, isn't it?" Stephen asked. "It's only natural that you should have it."

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye. "Odette…Odette wanted this ring so bad but the Ancient One wouldn't let her have it. Even though our father inherited it from _his_ parents and proposed to our mum with it."

"Well, maybe it wanted to return to _Elizabeth_ Proctor, not…what was your sister's middle name again?"

"Abigail," Odile barely murmured, "like my mum."

"There you go!" The doctor's explanation only served to puzzle Odile further. "Seriously? You don't know the ring's history?"

She shook her head.

Stephen gave a disappointed tut. "Why do you think it's called the Bassett Joint Ring? Hint: it has to do with the Salem witch trials."

"I—I don't—"

"Oh, fine! I'll tell you. See, this is why you have to read."

"Spare me, will you?" she mumbled. "I can hardly think straight right now."

"Come on. You could probably use some more tea." He took her to the cozy room they'd first chatted in and magically manifested another set of teacups. "You probably do know that John and Elizabeth Proctor were among those sentenced during the witch trials."

"Yeah." Odile picked up her tea with her steady right hand. "He was executed but they pardoned her because she was pregnant. My father was a direct descendant of the son she gave birth to."

"But what you don't seem to know is that Elizabeth _Bassett_ Proctor had a grandmother, Ann Bassett, who was a Quaker midwife. She was accused of witchcraft some thirty years before her granddaughter's trial, though apparently nothing happened to her."

" _Was_ she a witch or too weird for the Puritans?"

"It's not certain," Stephen said, "but very likely. _She_ gave the Bassett Ring to her granddaughter. John and Elizabeth wore a half each until they got married, after which Elizabeth kept the full ring. People didn't exchange wedding rings back then."

Odile inspected her ring, flipping her hand around over and over. You couldn't see the heart-shaped ruby, nor could you tell that those tiny golden hands had once been unclasped.

"You're its rightful owner now, Odile _Elizabeth_ Proctor." Dr. Strange grinned. "Congratulations. You got yourself a proper bling ring."


	10. Part two, Chapter V

V.

"You've been avoiding me," Loki said to Odile's astral form in the dead of the night. She was returning books to the library while her body slept.

"I have?"

"Yes." He watched her fly from shelf to shelf. "Sneaking in and out of the library when I'm not here. Like…a ghost."

Odile went about her business unperturbed. Loki followed her closely, eager to get a reaction out of her.

"The…Internet says the Hulk killed your parents," he blurted out. Odile stopped and faced him. "Is it true?"

"Who taught you how to use the Internet?" she asked.

"I taught myself. So tell me, is it true?"

"How did you even get a computer?" Odile continued her task, switching to picking out books.

"See," Loki retorted, "you _are_ avoiding me. If you weren't, you'd just answer my questions."

She floated up to him, crossed her legs under her and hovered on his eye level with a few books in her arms. "Whether I'm avoiding you or not is absolutely irrelevant. And either way, I am in no way obligated to answer your questions."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, then he began to clap. "You've been reading. Bravo!"

"Oh, don't you mock me!" She returned to the bookshelves to conclude her search.

"I meant no such thing," he assured her. "I am merely curious."

"Well, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat."

"I'm not a cat."

That made her smile. "Fair enough. Yes, my parents did die when Hulk and that Abomination wrecked Harlem." She had all her books now. "But there's no telling which one squashed them."

"I'm sorry," Loki said simply.

"Sure you are." She headed for the exit and allowed him to tag along.

"I am, truly. I've seen firsthand what that…monstrous creature is capable of—"

"Said the man who let an alien army loose on New York."

He stopped. "I thought you didn't cling onto the past."

"I'm not, you're the one who's bringing it up."

Loki gave up and let her carry on by herself. "I…I missed you!" he shouted after her.

"Bullshit!" Odile shouted back.

"That's exactly why," he chuckled to himself and walked away.

The following night, they encountered each other under the same circumstances.

"Revenge," he began this time, "has it never crossed your mind?"

"If it had," Odile replied, flipping through a book, "you wouldn't be sitting there right now."

"Oh? Is that a challenge?"

"No." She slammed the book shut. "Just a statement."

Night after night, she ignored his blatant attempts at irritating her, which irritated _him_ , until he made a last-ditch effort to get her attention. Due to the increased supervision he'd been put under lately, Loki had to devise a scheme more cautious than the last one for a night out on the town.

This time around, he also had no ticket to the show so he bypassed the front entrance, circled around to the back and sneaked inside when one of the theater attendants stepped out for a smoke break.

 _Salomé_ was still running strong but the house wasn't full anymore. Disguised, Loki easily managed to find an available seat in one of the exclusive VIP boxes. Nobody saw him there, not even Odile. He went as far as to mask his presence from her and she jolted when she found him perched on the small bed in her dressing room.

"Loved the show," was the first thing he said, barely visible. The only source of light in the room were the white bulbs around Odile's makeup mirror.

"Thanks," she muttered, sitting down at her vanity table. "Though I thought I told you not to sneak up on me."

"Not sure you've noticed, _love,_ but I'm hardly one to listen." He stood up.

Odile didn't give in. "You must be pretty desperate to have come all the way here to see me. What do you want?"

His hand fell on her shoulder. His fingers tugged at the silk of her robe. "You," he whispered, bringing his mouth to her ear.

She looked at him in her mirror, craned her neck to let him kiss it. Vivid, intense flashbacks of all the things he'd made her feel gave her goosebumps. Her body seemed to melt and he scooped her up in his arms.

"Try to say no now," he teased her.

"Oh, I would," she breathed over his lips, "but I fear it would devastate you."

She pecked the tip of his nose and back-flipped out of his grasp to retrieve her sling ring. Then at the very last moment, she changed her mind.

"Actually, you know what?" She smirked. "If you want it so bad, you know where to find me. I'd rather not pull another unexplainable vanishing act."

Loki didn't look very happy with her decision. "You dare mock me, human?"

"Ooh, are we getting feisty?"

"Don't play with fire, Odile, I would hate to hurt you."

"Oh, don't work yourself up, love." She approached him enough to sweep imaginary dust off his shoulder. "You'll get wrinkles." Her right forefinger smoothed out his forehead. "So. I'll see you later or," she brought her hand down to trace her thumb along his bottom lip, "not?"

He continued to glower at her, seizing her wrist.

"Will you _stop_ glaring?" She snatched her hand from his grip. "I'm not a toy, Loki. You don't get to use me whenever you feel like it. I thought you were fun but you're being downright ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? I am Loki of Asgard—"

"Burdened with glorious purpose, yeah, yeah, I know the drill. We're all beneath you, yadda, yadda, yadda." Odile yawned. "Although, to be honest, I did enjoy lying beneath you so please don't ruin it with your tough-guy tantrum."

The anger dissipated from his features and he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh. "Oh, I _have_ missed you, Odile."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"My sincere apologies," he added. "I'll wait. Maybe we can walk together."

"Huh." She regarded him with suspicious eyes. "Fine. Wait outside. I'll try not to take long."

Odile emerged from her dressing room donning a trenchcoat over a simple sapphire dress. It brought out her eyes and, falling a few inches short of her knees, just about enough of her legs. She topped it off with a fedora and strapped a navy handbag on her shoulder.

"I must say," Loki began as she locked her dressing room, "it's always impressive to see you wearing something other than those dull white robes."

"Aww, thanks, mate." She took the arm he offered and put her free hand in her pocket. "Though it's actually a relief not to have to worry as much about what I wear."

They headed towards the back exit, with Odile stopping to say good-night to Samir. "Girl, who dis?" he asked in a whisper as they hugged.

Odile smiled. "A friend."

Samir raised an eyebrow. "A friend, huh?"

Loki gave her a questioning glance.

"Yes, Sami. A friend."

"With all kinds of benefits, I suppose."

Odile shook her head. "See you, Sami."

"Who was that?" Loki inquired as they crossed the street.

She grinned. "Don't worry, he's gay—unless, perhaps, you might like to…," she trailed off suggestively.

"No, thanks, I'd rather have you all to myself."

"Samir is my friend," Odile said. "My _only_ friend. We went to dance school together, in London, and stayed so close, we ended up in the same dancing company."

They stopped and turned left into a dark alley. Here, Odile got her sling ring out and opened a gateway into her apartment.

As soon as they stepped foot on the tiled floor, a lazy jazz tune started up in the background. Odile dropped her handbag in the hall and swayed to shed her coat. Humming, she proceeded to make herself a smoothie for dinner but she never got around to drinking it.

Loki could only take so much of her swinging hips. Her half-sleeved dress had a low round neckline, which exposed her collarbones and the tops of her shoulder blades. Again he disregarded her request and stealthily came up behind her. She sensed him approach, however, and didn't resist him.

His hot breath scalded her skin. His palms burned her waist through the linen of her dress. Her hips continued to sway until he stilled them to unzip her. When he pushed it off her shoulders, the dress fell in a puddle at her feet.


End file.
